This is third in a series of excerpts from the book: Dad’s Memories: Growing Up Poor, But Rich, by Dr. Jack Hamilton Armstrong (written for his Grandchildren)


Long before I can remember I am sure I was bundled up and taken to Sunday School every Sunday and stayed for Church following. Then I was taken to Prayer meetings every Wednesday evening as well. This continued until I was old enough to begin remembering the people who were always there, the songs that were sung and the lessons being taught.

The two Sunday School Superintendents I particularly remember are Aldice Jackson and Becham Godsey. They would always ask if there were any birthdays and if it was your birthday you were supposed to go up to the altar and put in a penny for each of your years of age.

There were also the annual Christmas plays in which you were expected to participate. Also there were the annual revivals when a visiting minister would come and conduct meeting for one or heaven forbid two weeks at which you were expected to attend every night. Occasionally there would be all day Church dinners which were usually a lot of fun for us kids as well as having a lot of good food!

Dad would only occasionally go to Church services. However, he would always take Mom and I and then wait at the filling station until it was time for the service to end and pick us up. When Grandma Moore was in residence during the summer he would drop Mom and I off at the Methodist Church and drop Grandma Moore at the Christian Church and then pick us all up following services.

One of the ladies at Church was Mae Tucker. She only had an older son, but she loved children. One Sunday morning Mom was getting me ready to go to Sunday School and I was crying and not wanting to get ready and Mom asked what was the matter and I said I didn’t want to go because Mae Tucker would kiss me.

My least favorite Church song was the Old Rugged Cross. It had about 6 verses and was always sung near the close of services when I was tired and sleepy and it seemed to go on forever. When I was about 12 years old I joined the Church and was baptized in Spring Creek over the hill from the Methodist Cemetery on what was then Frank Cobb’s farm.

To be continued….

Taken from the book: Dad’s Memories: Growing Up Poor, But Rich, by Dr. Jack Hamilton Armstrong (written for his Grandchildren)